


ray of light

by kalypsobean



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean





	ray of light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shopfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts).



"That's the thing about towers," Mary says, just to hear her own voice and listen for the echo. "It's not the damp, or being in one room, or never going outside." If she's quiet, to the point of forgetting to breathe, she can sometimes hear it; it depends on the weather, whether the air is heavy or wet or clear. Such changes can be felt, even with the window closed, and she's been here long enough to know them.

Such knowledge is never likely to be the weapon it once was, when she was underestimated and free.

She doesn't say the rest; today is a clear day, and words that end with sounds that are hard and round tend to come back to her the most. It wouldn't do for her pretence at companionship to be the thing to remind her that she doesn't have it.

 

Mary has been moved from castle to castle; she knows England itself only from the shelter of carriages. She is never quite alone, but she may as well be, for in each place she has a different guardian, and the servants not of her household learn not to speak with her through blood and pain. Never hers, of course; she knows about it because she can hear the maids being reminded not to look at her before they enter her room, because she can see the stains that weren't able to be washed out, because occasionally she could hear people speak of her as a witch.

Mary's best interests lie firmly in the direction of keeping her own counsel, not so that she won't endanger others, but so that she isn't considered dangerous herself. It earns her freedoms, but it is the closeness she desires; she feels less alone when she has knowledge, even though it may never be used. Sometimes it is word of her son, or of her cousin; those of her household who remain loyal bring her news of home. She is no longer Scotland, though; she feels it as if the part of her that connected her to her homeland has died within her, and some days, those days when echoes do not happen, she cannot walk.

 

She accepts it all and she prays, even when a confessor cannot be brought to her, and Mass is denied her. That is the other thing she has left - her faith, though it is long since she believed in Rome's support, and she still knows that there is no shortage of truth in the pagan ways. And so, she is still not quite alone, but still, she is used to balls and politicking and not being restricted in when she can go outside or to whom she can speak. Her secrets, though, those are familiar; her correspondence has always been read and her every word has always been scrutinised and judged.

 

When she listens for her own voice, it is to hear words that she doesn't have to assess and take apart, consider their truth based on who said them and the message they carry.

 

When she hears a voice that isn't hers, she is too stunned to even start, though her body wouldn't let her if she could; it is a bad day, another bad day, and that is why she has to doubt it.

"Mary," it says, the same way she always heard, whether surrounded by stone or leaves.

"Mary, I'm coming."

She packs, light enough for an escape, little enough for her possessions not to be missed, and then she unpacks them again; she has the knowledge that she can leave in a hurry, and that, too, is valuable. That is another thing she knows now, far more keenly than she ever did: that the most valuable things are those she keeps in her mind and in her heart.


End file.
